


I Dream of Zombie

by imaginationtherapy



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Collaboration, Healing Broken Hearts, I fixed it, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mild descriptions of death, Temporary Character Death, from a dream, if you read dying to see you, it was all a dream, jarse squad, mild descriptions of a corpse, then you can handle this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 18:28:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationtherapy/pseuds/imaginationtherapy
Summary: Jakes had a nightmare.An epilogue todying to see you, one last timeby guardianoffun.I highly recommend that you read that fic first. This one will make a lot more sense if you do. :)





	I Dream of Zombie

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [dying to see you, one last time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761485) by [guardianoffun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/pseuds/guardianoffun). 



Jakes woke with a start, Morse’s name on his lips. _No, not Morse!_ Why, why did it have to be Morse? Why did the monsters have to take him? Why did it have to be Jakes who found him, half turned and nearly mad with the effort it took to not lash out? Why did it have to be Jakes that Morse turned to, begging him to stop Morse from harming anyone? Why couldn’t he stop Morse? Why did it have to be their last embrace that killed Morse? Why couldn’t it have been him who died in that abandoned station? Why did he, Peter Jakes, not have the guts to do it? Why, _God why_ couldn’t there have been another way?

_God, why Morse?_

Jakes sobbed into the darkness, a heartbreaking moan echoing in the silence of the room. He hadn’t even been able to kiss Morse good-bye, not properly. Not before he’d started turning. He hadn’t had time to hold him in his arms and comfort him. Morse was already half gone by the time he had arrived, having lived his last moments in terror. _God,_ Jakes had always hoped he could be there in the end. His heart had shattered, knowing Morse was alone in those moments.

Then Morse asked….he asked Jakes… _God,_ Jakes couldn’t face his memories. Couldn’t face himself, what he almost did, what he _couldn’t_ do. Hell, he had only just enough time to clutch Morse to his chest before the younger man had grabbed the gun. Now the only thing he had left was memories, memories of what Morse looked like, smelled like, felt like. Memories of what Morse had meant to him. Memories of the fear and pain in Morse’s eyes, there at the end. _God,_ the memory of Morse’s goodbye, the memory of gunpowder, the memory of...Jakes let out an anguished wail.

Why the hell had he been spared? Why hadn’t he been turned as well? Wouldn’t it have been better to be undead, with no emotions and no God-damned memories? Wouldn’t that be better than this living hell? Wouldn’t that be better than to be left fully alive, memories burning red-hot and a seething hole left deep in his chest? _God, Morse!_

A muffled grunt next to him nearly made Jakes jump out of his skin. He turned his head, eyes wide with fear. It took him a solid minute to register what he was seeing. Gray-blue eyes staring at him. Sleepy gray-blue eyes full of worry, but completely human. Morse’s pale face--pale with sleep, not death...not that sickly, awful _blue._ His neck--his beautiful, pale neck-- whole, unbroken, unscarred. Morse’s tousled hair, free of dirt and blood. _Morse?_

“S’matter, Peter?” Morse slurred. _Morse’s voice,_ thick with slumber, but lucid and free of pain.

Jakes remembered the last time Morse said his name, the way the syllables had slipped through Morse’s lips like congealed blood, the raspy quality of Morse’s dying voice echoing like ghostly footsteps on gravel. 

“Morse?” Jakes croaked. He blinked his eyes, trying to adjust to the darkness. And then it all came back to him in a rush. _The movies._ They had gone to the movies. They had gone to see some new monster movie, about zombies. They had come home. They had gone to bed. Jakes had been _dreaming?!_ Jakes shot upright, adrenaline coursing through his veins. “Morse!” 

Morse blinked up at him, face caught somewhere between amused and irritated. Amused at Jakes’ antics, no doubt, and irritated at the noise. Jakes thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Morse...my God, you’re okay? You’re alive? You’re here?” Jakes was babbling, he knew he was making no sense. It had all seemed so _real._ He had smelled the gunpowder, felt Morse’s blood (and Strange’s, did that mean Strange was still alive too?) on his hands. He had held Morse’s cold, dead body in his arms. He had watched Morse....

But...but he hadn’t?

A lazy smile curled around Morse’s lips. “Last I checked. What’s gotten into you--mmfph!”

Jakes dove at Morse, desperate. He captured the younger man’s lips in a bruising kiss and wrapping his arms around Morse’s back. Jakes frantically tugged Morse up to his chest, not relinquishing Morse’s lips for one second. When his brain insisted that he needed air, he buried his head in Morse’s curls. Shaking hands came up to roam Morse’s face, reverently exploring the sharp angles he knew so well. The angles he thought he would never get to feel again. 

Morse shook with silent laughter in his arms. “Not that I don’t enjoy the attention, Peter,” Morse muttered against Jakes’ neck. “But what did I do to deserve this?”

Jakes pulled back, taking a deep breath. _A dream,_ it had just been a dream. He smiled weakly at Morse, realizing that he was shaking. He must look like a fool. But then again, he’d long since been a fool for Endeavour Morse. Jakes brought both hands up to cup Morse’s face. _Alive._

“Don’t ever ask me to kill you, okay?”

Morse raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t planning to, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jakes leaned in and kissed Morse again. “And don’t you _dare_ sacrifice yourself for me. Ever.” 

Morse’s eyes darkened, his eyebrows drawing together with concern. “Peter?”

“A dream, Morse, I had a bad dream. A nightmare.” Jakes pressed his lips to Morse’s forehead, pulling Morse close to his chest. “I dreamt that you died.” His voice _did not_ crack on the last word. “I dreamt...that you…” the words caught in his throat. He couldn’t give credence to that horror by putting it into words.

“Peter,” Morse pressed a warm-- alive hand to Jakes’ chest, pushing him back slightly. His eyes bore into Jakes’, all traces of levity gone. He knew Jakes’ greatest fear was losing Morse. “I’m right here, okay? I’m just fine.” 

Morse’s lips found Jakes’, and Jakes sighed into the returned kiss. Morse’s hands curled around Jakes’ neck, and Jakes let himself relax into Morse’s embrace. It may have been a dream, but _God_ it had felt real. This, though, this was real. Jakes’ hands moved slowly over Morse’s back, his brain trying to focus on the ridges of bone and smooth muscle. He focused on the feel of Morse’s lips on his, that indefinable taste that was _Morse._ He had Morse in his arms. This was real. Morse was here.

Morse finally pulled back, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” He yawned. “Now, can we go back to sleep?” Jakes stole one more kiss before sinking back down to the pillows. He refused to let go of Morse though, only allowing the man to shuffle around a bit so that he was more comfortable. Then Jakes wrapped his arms back around Morse, reveling in the contented sigh that Morse gave, and in the comforting warmth of his body.

“Peter,” Morse murmured.

Jakes hummed into Morse’s curls, too busy breathing in his scent to respond properly.

“I always feel safe in your arms, you know. Safer than anywhere else.” Morse shifted slightly, pressing a light kiss to Jakes’ jaw. “I’ll be right here. Love you, Peter.”

“Sleep well, my heart,” Jakes whispered.

This time, Jakes’ sleep was dreamless. And when he woke up, he found staring into Morse’s eyes. Eyes full of love; the most beautiful eyes Jakes had ever seen. Most of the vivid images of his dream had faded, only a few vestiges of horror remaining. That, and whatever poem dream-Morse had written. Jakes smiled at Morse, reaching one hand out to caress Morse’s unblemished cheek. With a reverent whisper, Jakes quoted all that he could remember.

_If I could write the beauty of your eyes,_  
_And in fresh numbers number all your graces,_  
_The age to come would say 'This poet lies;_  
_Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.'_

Morse blushed before leaning forward and kissing him. Jakes felt the dream fade from his memory. 

“Good morning, Endeavour Morse.”

**Author's Note:**

> So guardianoffun was telling me about her zombie au (and I unfortunately helped make it worse, whoops) and it BROKE MY HEART. I decided to head canon it as a dream, and she convinced me to write an au of an au. Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed. I should probably go deal with _Stitches_ now...


End file.
